


Gimme Shelter

by rei_c



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Caring John Winchester, Friendship, Gen, Grieving John, Magic, Post-Mary's Death, Protective John Winchester, Religious Content, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Vietnam War, Witch Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Mary's death, John calls the one person who might not think that "I saw my wife burn to death on the ceiling of my son's nursery" is crazy talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [formalizing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/gifts).



> This is part of a half-formed idea I don't think is really going anywhere but the scene caught my mind and wouldn't leave, so. *Hands* 
> 
> (Backstory: John goes to his former commanding officer -- member of a down-South clan who practice a variety of folk magics and religions -- instead of Missouri Mosely and this makes all the difference.)

John puts the Impala in park, turns the car off with a grateful pat to the steering wheel for making it down here: Bayou Dularge Road at the ass-end of Louisiana and practically off the edge of dry land and into the Gulf. He's spent the last twenty hours thinking maybe he's lost his goddamned mind -- but he knows what he saw. If seeing Mary -- if what he saw a week ago sent him straight past grief into madness, then at least the last twenty hours have been spent getting him to friends who'll help set him straight. 

He gets out of the car, feels his knees pop and his back groan as he stretches, turns in time to see Dean scramble out of the back seat with Sam clutched tight, head on Dean's shoulder, mouth open in silent snore. 

"Johnny-boy, you made it." 

John turns and lays eyes on Peter Dupree, a man he hasn't seen since Lejeune. Something inside of him's not too proud to admit that seeing Pete's a relief, weight lifted right off his shoulders; he's not sure why when he'd expected flashbacks -- either of 'Nam or the fire -- but he's not gonna question it, either. 

"Aw, Johnny," Pete says, that rumble John remembers, and a moment later John's wrapped up in Pete's arms, the solid steady weight of a man six inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier. John gives into it, gives up to it, just for a second, lets Pete take his weight and grief and guilt, and then he pulls back, reaches back and sets a hand on Dean's shoulder, tugs Dean forward. 

"M'boy, Dean," John says. "And Sammy." 

Dean looks up at Pete and Pete -- Pete drops to one knee, meets Dean's eyes on Dean's level. Pete doesn't say anything, just nods, and, after a moment, Dean nods back. 

"C'mon inside," Pete says, once he's upright again. "Momma's got some food for you." John starts to protest, say that what they really need is sleep, he can find a place, they don't want to intrude, but Pete shakes his head, says, "You're here in our country now, Johnny, gotta 'bide by our rules and our rules say you eat first and let us find you a safe place to sleep." 

John's eyes are sandpaper-rough behind red-rimmed lids every time he blinks. He lets Pete lead him and the boys inside.

\--

John's not sure what he was expecting but the small house has a down-home feeling, all dressed up in blues and greens, matches the trees and swamps and kudzu and bayous they passed in colour but gives them an ocean feel, all air and wind and wave. It makes John breathe deep, has Dean looking around in something more like curiosity and less like suspicion. Pete herds them to the kitchen where there's a woman by the stove, stirring something in a giant pot. She turns when she hears them, wipes her hands on a dish towel slung over one shoulder. 

She studies John, first, and then her gaze drops to Dean and Sam, sharpens significantly. Dean meets her look, clutches Sam tighter, enough to wake him, and slips just a little behind John's leg, turning to his side, hiding Sam and giving her less of Dean to look at. Sam snuffles; John looks down in time to see Sam turn his face into Dean's neck, inhale deep, blink sleepy eyes and close them again, let out a noise that sounds contented and more than willing to doze back off.

"Huh," she finally says. 

John doesn't like the sound of that, especially when he can _feel_ the way Pete practically springs to attention next to him. "Ma'am?" John asks. 

She tears her eyes from Dean, looks at John, and he's taken aback by the fond smile on her face. "Oh, don't mind me," she says. "Just -- I ain't seen a pair of soulmates in siblin's for a long while. Didn't think they was doing that no more, 'specially when one of 'em's got the blood of hell's rulin' fam'ly runnin' through his veins." 

John blinks, not quite sure how to take that, but Dean steps out from behind him, says, "Nothin's wrong with Sammy." His voice is hoarse but firm, almost challenging. It's the first time Dean's said anything since the fire. John aches to hear it. 

"'Course not, baby," Pete's mother says. A little bit of the tension drops from Dean's shoulders -- not much, but enough to see. "And don't you worry: you got 'nough magic sparking off you to make a girl go blind; you'll be able to keep up. Now, come on -- bring that boy o' yours over to the table. I'll whip somethin' up for him while you feed yourself, then you can get a lil' into him 'fore you go to bed. Y'all both need some food and some sleep 'fore we go doin' anythin' crazy. Sound good?" 

Dean studies her, takes in the idea that not only does she accept that Dean's not going to let go of Sam, she also accepts that Dean doesn't trust anyone else to take care of Sam. Shit, if she was right -- soulmates -- no wonder. It goes a long way towards explaining so much that John almost wonders how he didn't see it before now. How neither he nor Mary saw it --.

Something in his chest clenches. 

"Aw, Johnny," Pete murmurs, one hand on John's shoulder, guiding John to a chair before his knees give out. 

A moment later John's sitting down, tumbler of bourbon on the table in front of him, and with the smell of stewed tomatoes and spicy sausage and _home_ around him, knowing that his boys are in good hands, John puts his head in his hands and starts to sob.


End file.
